


Indelible Ink

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: And Billy's self-doubt, Hurt/Comfort, Let them be Soft, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Post S3, Pretty much just 6 Times Steve Leaves a Note (and 1 Time Billy does), Soft boys really, Steve being a romantic, Swearing, soft Billy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28433721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Steve and Billy's relationship told with seven (ish) little notes.Billy picks up all of the notes at the end of the week. Slips them into his pocket, and then into the bottom of a drawer in the guest room that Steve offered up so readily, so quickly, when Billy turned up on his doorstep with a black eye, a duffel bag, and a whispered admission that he couldn't stay at Cherry Lane anymore.He's not sure why he's keeping them. They're just some dumb little scraps of paper. But he can't bring himself to throw them away.There's something comforting about having concrete proof that, for once, someone cared.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 15
Kudos: 140





	Indelible Ink

**Author's Note:**

> A flangsty one (more fluffy than angst though I THINK)
> 
> Essentially 6 Times Steve Leaves a Note (and 1 Time Billy Does) with two boys being adorable and soft together.

The first notes are simple. Direct.

Clear instructions left for the days when Steve's not around to remind Billy of the basics of self care.

' _E_ _at. Help yourself to anything!_ '   
Stuck with a tacky and borderline offensive 'Aloha from Hawaii' magnet on a fridge packed with Billy's favourite foods and stacks of Tupperware full of Claudia Henderson's casseroles. 

' _T_ _ake your meds!_ '  
On a folded piece of paper propped up on the coffee table, next to a fancy container separated into days of the week, each section brimming with the pills that Steve had spent a good hour sorting out when it all got too much for Billy. 

' _Call the Doctor!_ '   
On a bright yellow Post-It stuck on the handset of the phone in the kitchen, with a fresh pack of Post-Its and a pot of pens on the shelf underneath it, ready for Billy to write his appointment details down.  
Because Steve thinks of things like that.

Billy picks up all of the notes at the end of the week. Slips them into his pocket, and then into the bottom of a drawer in the guest room that Steve offered up so readily, so quickly, when Billy turned up on his doorstep with a black eye, a duffel bag, and a whispered admission that he couldn't stay at Cherry Lane anymore.

He's not sure why he's keeping them. They're just some dumb little scraps of paper. But he can't bring himself to throw them away.

There's something comforting about having concrete proof that, for once, someone cared.

*

He finds the next note on the bedside table.

' _Hey, didn't want to wake you. Got the early shift today so back at 3_.'

The number is underlined a few times.

' _H_ _ope you're OK. Don't feel bad. I get nightmares too._ '

Then a couple of words, scribbled through and completely unfathomable even when Billy turns the paper over and tries to read them through the back.

There are a few marks after the scribbles, dots and dashes, a nonsensical Morse code of places where the pen had rested, and Billy can picture Steve tapping it against the paper, lips pursed, wondering if he should write more. Wondering if he's already written too much.

The rest is more like the notes Billy's used to.

Simple. Direct.

 _'Sleep and eat. Remember your meds. Take it easy today OK?_ '

Steve's even signed his name. Like Billy wouldn't have known. Like there was anyone else in his room last night, anyone else who'd heard Billy's screams and climbed into his bed, shaking him awake so carefully and then holding him while he cried like a damn baby, whispering quiet reassurances until he calmed down enough to sleep. Billy had woken once more in the night, peacefully that time, to find that Steve had stayed. His warm hand resting on Billy's bicep, an anchor. Comfort and safety in the grip of those long fingers. 

Billy folds the note carefully before placing it in the drawer with the others. Another reminder for later.

Help for the time when he won't have the real thing anymore. When he'll be adrift. 

*

He finds the third note on a bedside table again.

Steve's bedside table, this time.

' _You look cute when you're asleep, baby. Hard to drag myself away but you know Robin will kill me if I'm late again._ '

 _I'll miss you!_ '

There's a smiley face and a childish drawing of a penis above the word hard, and Billy snorts through his nose, feeling a warm rush of fondness at the sheer Steve-ness of it all.  
There are three little x's at the bottom of the page, and Billy knows his smile has turned into a full on grin. He can't help it. 

It's the first morning that he hasn't woken up in Steve's arms. The first morning without the warm embrace that he's gotten used to over the past few weeks, after the second night they spent together. The night when Billy hadn't been able to sleep at all. The night when he'd crept across the landing and tapped gently on Steve's door and found him awake and welcoming and beautiful.  
The night they talked and laughed and shared secrets like girls at a sleepover.

The night they kissed. 

Billy rereads the note over and over, dragging his finger along each line, each word, each letter. Butterflies fluttering in his stomach at the 'baby', his eyes lingering on 'I'll miss you' as he aches in solidarity. The tip of his tongue darting over his bottom lip as he stares at the three kisses. 

There's another set of words beating in his heart.  
The same ones that he's been keeping in his mouth for days, close to spilling out whenever he catches Steve smiling, or wearing the red sweater that looks so good, or dancing terribly to Genesis or buying the orange juice with pulpy bits because Billy likes it best, even though Steve prefers the smooth stuff. 

He whispers them now as he presses his index finger down on the three kisses. One word for each x.  
It feels good to let them out. To say them and mean them for the first time in years.  
To know that he can, even if he's not ready for Steve to hear them yet.  
  
He says them again as he folds the note up carefully, holding it to his chest for a moment before slipping it into the new hiding place- tucked between the pages of an never-to-be-returned library book in a pocket of his now empty duffel bag in Steve's closet.

All stashed on a shelf underneath the rail where Billy's jackets now hang, pressed closely against Steve's sweaters.

Worn leather against the softest wool.

*

The fourth note is slid under the guest room door.  
It's been the 'guest room' again for a few months now.  
But Billy wonders if it's back to being his room.  
That's if Steve will even let him stay.  
  
Billy doesn't know why he would. Not after the way Billy had acted. How he'd pushed Steve away when he'd been trying to help. The horrible words that had spewed from his lips as he clenched his fists and fought every urge to hit and punch and break.

Billy half expects the little scrap of paper to say 'get out'. Maybe 'get your things and get out' because Steve was kind and thoughtful like that.

He deserves something a lot fucking stronger, really. Something harsh. Something as callous and biting as the insults he'd flung at Steve.

And, ok, maybe Steve had hurled some back, but they'd all been pale and ineffective, little more than thumb tacks when compared to the poisoned arrows of Billy's attack. 

Because Steve was good and Billy was bad and that's how it would always be.  
  
Billy picks the note up with shaking fingers,

 _'I know you don't want to talk to me so I'm not talking. But I need to say sorry. I AM sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I shouldn't have pushed_.'

There's another one too, following soon after.

Plenty of words scratched out at the top of the paper.

_~~Im not sorry about~~ _

_~~I dont want to~~ _

_~~Please just~~ _

_~~Billy I cant~~ _

_~~Your Dad should nev~~ _

And then the rest, hastily written, lacking punctuation, the letters getting smaller and smaller as they reach the bottom of the paper,

 _'I meant what I said I won't take that back. It WAS NOT your fault. Please believe me_.

 _You are so good, Billy. You deserve good things_.'   
  
Billy's blinking away tears when another note appears through the gap, and he sits down by the door, cross legged, watching as the scrap of paper emerges.

It breaks his heart to think about how Steve must be sitting there, just outside, the two of them separated by an inch of wood and a whole fucking canyon of Billy's issues, and he wishes he could push his fingers under the door, to find Steve's hand and hold on tight.

Never let him go.

But even if he could, he's not sure that Steve would want it. Not anymore. Not now. 

This note is even messier. Smeared ink and jagged words on crumpled paper.

Wet blotches obscuring a few of the words, and the kind of misspelling that Billy _knows_ only happens when Steve’s upset, 

_'I'll leave you alone now but Im sorry Billy. Im so sorry. I'm sorry I messed this up. Just let me know that your OK in there. Please._

_I love you.'  
_

The last words are small, and even shakier than the first ones.

Billy's eyes flick over it in seconds, and then he's up, wrenching the door open to find Steve sitting on the carpet just outside, a pen and a pad of paper by his feet. He's hunched over, head pressed against his knees and his hands tugging roughly at his hair.

Billy kneels beside him, dropping the notes clenched tightly in his fist, and pulling Steve into his arms.

"Hey, hey, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Steve. I'm so sorry."  
  


  
Billy picks up the scattered notes later that night.

Puts them in the same place as the others.

Between the pages of the book, at the bottom of a bag, safely stored in a closet in the room he shares with the boy who loves him.  
  
Because Steve wrote it, wrote what Billy's been wanting to say for so long. Those three words. And then he said them out loud in a desperate response to Billy's apologies.

And then he said it again. And again and again, happier this time, in between kisses.

And then he smiled, bright and surprised, when Billy said it back. 

And he smiled even more when Billy kept saying it. Into Steve's hair, and against his lips and his chest and his stomach and every other place he could reach, only stopping when his mouth went lower and Steve's hands reached into his hair.  
  
Billy said it again as Steve pulled him back up and held him close and slid a hand down between them.  
  
They both said it as they lay together, so it was the last thing they heard before they fell asleep.

*

It’s Billy who leaves the seventh note. He writes it the very next morning, sitting up in bed, still curled in sleep-warm sheets and with Steve snoring beside him,

_‘Hey lazy ass, I’m downstairs making pancakes.’_

He knows he’s being dumb. He's pretty certain that Steve won’t wake up any time soon, and Billy’s planning to bring the breakfast up on Mrs Harrington’s wooden breakfast tray anyway. He might even pick a rose from the garden, pop it in the little vase from the kitchen window and go full-on perfect housewife. 

He already has the apron and the curls.

But he needs to go to the store first. Get some of the smooth orange juice. The kind Steve likes best. 

So it feels right to write something. Just in case. 

He carries on,

_‘Some of us don’t need any more beauty sleep.’_

He looks down at Steve, turned onto his stomach with his cheeks smushed up against the pillows and his hair a complete mess.

Beautiful.

_'I'm sorry about last night. I know we said we wouldn't say any more, I know._

_But I AM sorry. You were right. And now you have it in writing. Permanent._

_You were right.'_

  
And Billy's writing is bigger and messier than it used to be. His hands don't work quite as well after...everything.

And the paper’s only small, so it's getting pretty full.

But there’s still room for three more words. 

Because now that he’s heard them and said them, Billy will always find room for them. 

_'I love you.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me about Harringrove on Tumblr! I'm [CherryDreamer](https://cherrydreamer.tumblr.com/)


End file.
